Here
by Oasis Blackmore
Summary: No matter how morally corrupt it was to be "here," he didn't want to stop, not in the least. Slash. Mostly Troy-centric. Oneshot.


**A/N: Too excited for HSM 3, this seems to be all I can think about these days, other than icky school. So, here's a borderline-smutty fic with what I suppose you could call some sort of plot or direction. Enjoy.**

Here

Troy wasn't really sure how they got here. Starting when Chad had tossed his basketball to the side and tackled him on their way into his parent-free house, every memory was a little blurry. He vaguely remembered something about how Chad was sure he couldn't resist anymore or didn't care about the consequences, but then the pressure of a pair of unsurprisingly rough lips had taken over just about every sense in Troy's body, excepting the alarmed part of his mind telling him to close the gaping front door before any of the neighbors saw.

So, there had been that, and then, Troy hadn't even resisted when Chad lead him to the couch in the living room. There had been something about the look in Chad's eyes, this adoring, hungry, terrified look, like at any moment Troy was gonna have some epiphany about the implications of the situation and run screaming. And Troy had moved forward and kissed him to make that fear go away because, implications be damned, this whole thing felt too good, better than it had ever felt with--

It was like, when he blocked out the rational, thinking part of his brain, everything fell into place, and he could accept what was happening without a qualm. It was with that single idea, the idea that this was _right_, that he and Chad had crashed onto the couch, shoving the coffee table out of the way and unsettling floral-printed cushions. They breathed heavily into each other's mouths as they broke apart, making eye contact and sharing a fiery sort of stare.

And that was "here." Here, with Chad's body hovering over his, one leg resting on the floor and the other tucked in between Troy's hip and the back of the sofa. Here, where Chad's tongue was doing unspeakably amazing things just underneath Troy's earlobe. Here, where nothing mattered except getting to that release and where the ramifications weren't going to be considered until they'd both had their fill.

Chad pulled back slightly, his shuddering breath cooling the tingling, moist spot he had just abandoned. "I shoulda done this years ago," he whispered in Troy's ear, the rich tones of his voice sending tremors down Troy's spine.

"Years ago?" Troy barely managed the question before Chad found the dip in between his collarbones, one strong hand slipping under the hem of Troy's muscle shirt and tracing desperate patterns over his abdomen.

"Yeah," Chad affirmed, distracted by the task of removing the cloth in his way and the troubling fact that he had to fully detach his mouth from Troy's skin to do so. The shirt flew across the room, catching on a wall hanging, and Chad resumed his eager exploration of the uncharted territory he had revealed. "Years ago," he eventually repeated against Troy's sternum before shifting just slightly to the right and causing Troy's back to arch. "Like, before you met Gabriella."

And suddenly, that fuzzy, floating-on-a-cloud feeling disappeared, and Troy's entire body tensed. Because in all this, he had somehow managed not to consider the effect "here" would have on his _girlfriend_.

"Chad," he managed to get the word out in an urgent enough tone to stop Chad's progress. And, _God_, it would have helped his resolve if Chad's eyes hadn't been clouded over as he looked up over the expanse of Troy's naked chest, if Chad hadn't still been running his fingers over the elastic of Troy's exposed boxers, curiously, deviously. But **no**. Gabriella was too great of a girl to lose over one unfortunately erotic moment with his best friend. "Chad, we ca--"

Chad had to have known what was coming, for his sudden movement was certainly enough to make Troy forget all about what he had been about to say. With that firm presence wrapped around him, even over the admittedly thin fabric of his underwear, Troy couldn't construct a single word, let alone a whole complaint.

"If you wanna stop, just say so," Chad muttered almost remorsefully as he let his hand fall away.

And Troy knew that no matter how morally corrupt it was to be "here," committing this liaison with his figurative brother, he didn't want to stop, not in the least. Swallowing over the sudden dryness in his throat, Troy croaked, "No." And the definition of "here" stretched beyond something that either Troy or Chad could, in that moment, comprehend.


End file.
